As Crow reached his enemy, the air turned hot, spasming and boiling between them and spitting steam in all directions. He lunged with both hands, managing to slap hers aside just as the arcane conflagration she’d built leapt from them.

It disappeared to his left, and Crow forced himself to ignore the haywire magic as his momentum dragged him into the girl.

She wrestled for the briefest moment, long enough to make clear the fact that her magic did not bring any measure of additional strength. Crow dug a punch into the girl’s side, felt sick as ribs broke and splintered with the sound of snapping twigs, then watched as she fell back to lie still.

Studying her long enough to see through any act, he finally turned back to Unity.

“Are you alright?” He called, making his way to the artificial’s side just as he straightened up.

Pain twisted the glare he received, leaving it hostile and fogged with an aimless hatred.

“What do you fucking think?” He growled. Crow barely registered the words, his eyes coming to rest on the foaming spit that accompanied them.

Pink, or red. Either colour was damning enough. Bloody spit could be both, and one shade of vitae was as serious as the other.

“Bastards must have been here before we were.” The boy growled. Crow couldn’t help but find his words dragging, slowed as they were by his hastened thoughts and perception of time.

“They were probably watching our scuffle with the bitch. Must have had the carrions drooling.”

Grunting with the effort, the boy began to limp towards the girl’s unconscious form. He nodded in the direction of the fallen boy.

“Hurry up and go through his pockets.”

Crow’s ears popped as the shrivelled, blackened remains of the hairs lining his neck twitched to stand up. Unity’s magic gave haste to the boy’s words, an unspeakable relief to Crow’s tedium.

“I imagine they have a key of their own, unless we got ours through preferential treatment. Check up their arseholes if you need to, just make sure you do it quickly.”

He did as instructed, burying the pang of guilt as he hurried to the boy’s side and turned him over to reach his pockets. Crow had searched for no more than a dozen heartbeats when Unity’s voice rang out again.

“I found it!”

The chainbound crystal’s pale light flashed gold against a key dangling from Unity’s hand, and even from the distance between them Crow could tell it was near identical to his own.

He absently squeezed the metal in his pocket as he stood, finding reassurance in it and making his way towards the artificial at a jog.

“What do we do now?” Crow asked. Unity was already turning away from him as he said it.

“Look around. We have keys, now we need to find whatever it is that they open.” After a pause, he continued. “Keep moving, too. I’d rather not make ourselves a static target, there’s no guarantee the pair we just knocked out are the only enemies who spotted us.”

Unity led, and Crow followed in the wake of his surety. Though he kept his eyes front, he couldn’t help the distant movement drawing them one way and another as they walked.

Flashes of light dotted the landscape around him, a dozen different colours and a hundred different sources. Smoke and steam coiled from patches of sand scorched by the magic, shifting and sliding at other points where brute strength toppled dunes rather than burned them.

All around figures moved, numbering without end and rendered little more than dots by their distant positions. He needed no details to recognise them.

Warring mystics were an unmistakable sight at any range.

“We should hurry.” He called ahead, picking his own pace up as he spoke. There came no reply from the artificial, and anger began to bite at Crow.

This isn’t the time to ignore me, you bastard.

He came to walk beside his teammate, gripping the boy’s shoulder as he repeated himself. The words faltered in his throat when Unity stumbled, then dropped down to one knee.

“Are you alright?” Crow gasped, staring at the boy. He found his hands raised, palms open and wavering before him as if they might have brought Unity to his feet with but a gesture.

“Would it kill you to ask a question that doesn’t make my brain melt?”

The barb was weak, delivered with a wavering voice and fumbling lips. That Unity folded over, coughed and flecked the sand before him with blood the moment he finished was of no surprise. Yet it still sent ice coursing through Crow’s veins.

He looked to the boy’s wound. Obscured by the red-stained tatters that had been his sleeve, it revealed nothing to him. Yet the ground in their wake bore crimson enough to tell Crow all he needed to know.

“I’ll carry you.” He said, moving to prepare himself for just that. It earned another cough from Unity, accompanied by a hand waved as if to ward him.

“You fucking will not!”

More coughing, more blood. Unity fell almost fully to the ground before Crow seized him, pulling the boy upwards and slinging his wounded arm across his own shoulders.

“I told you-”

“I know, and I won’t carry you.” Crow said, interrupting the boy’s feeble protest with as much tact as he could manage. “I’ll just help you walk.”

The artificial fell silent, save for pained grunts and gasps as Crow stood half beside and half beneath him. His weight was akin to a feather, with magic to share its burden, and it was only moments before the two of them were hobbling forward once more.

“I have no idea where we ought to go,” he said to Unity, “But I think you do. So you’ll have to guide me, just lean whichever direction you think we should turn.”

“Why are you helping me?” The boy asked. His voice was as steady as a statue and pointed like a needle. It was almost enough to make Crow apologise for the aid.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asked instead.

“Because you have your own reason for entering, and I can’t imagine why you’d want to compromise your victory here for the sake of some fucking miscarriage.”

Crow found the question hard to answer, would have even were it not for the shocking language making it. His tongue moved silent in his mouth for a few heartbeats, mind twisting around itself in search of the right words.

“You said Ethi tried to stab me in the back.” He said at last, turning to look sidelong at Unity. “But it was your arm her spear ended up stuck in. Why is that?”

“Because I don’t know how to smack a spear aside, apparently. What makes you think I even care about winning?”

Crow blinked at that. Unable to find an answer.

“Do you not?” He asked, feeling the touch of blood welling beneath his face.

“I do, it would be terribly inconvenient if I publicly failed. Antagonising my handlers relies on my actually doing well enough to get away with it.”

Unity’s tone was no more serious than normal, save for the disconcerting pain that racked his every word. He’d given away nothing, leaving Crow to guess everything. It infuriated him that, even in his state, the boy could lie so well.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Unless he’s simply telling the truth.

The uncertainty gnawed at Crow as they walked, pulling at his focus even as he kept eyes around them for any sight of enemy mystics. Occasionally a nudge or tug from Unity would adjust their course, often around dunes or to draw farther from particularly intense sounds of battle.

Crow didn’t question the boy’s motive, it seemed wiser that he focus on defending them. Not that he could have even expected to receive answers at all.

Unity’s wound slowed them, even as their shuffling pace was sustained. They made progress more by the minute, and though time dragged with the tension and fear of attack, Crow soon began to see progress in the trailing footsteps behind them.

A sand dune gave them particular trouble, steeper than the rest and taller by half. Unity struggled to climb even with Crow’s help, and the time they spent scaling it made him painfully aware of the unseen rivals racing them.

Will I see them, if they ambush us? I know my Glimpses would…

Crow banished the thought of drawing on his second ability almost as soon as it occurred to him. He could feel his magic reserves; formerly a river, reduced to little more than a stream.

A fifth left, by his reckoning. Six minutes, or thereabouts, if he were to use both of his abilities and sustain his maximum output.

The idea of his precognition’s safety was as strong a temptation as Crow had ever felt, but fear of draining the entirety of his power and once more facing a mystic without magic won out.

Nine minutes if he maintained the use of only two thirds’ his potency by utilising physical enhancement alone. It would have to do.

“How far do you think we have?” He asked, trying to bite back the tremor of his voice and finding it beyond his control.

He turned before hearing Unity’s answer as shifting sand met his ears, head moving to stare at a charging mystic in less than a heartbeat.

Without thought he released his teammate, spinning to meet the boy head on. The motion was too slow by half. A fist cracked across his jaw, throwing him back and flattening Unity across the ground as Crow plowed through him.

Rolling sidelong, he came to a stop. Eyes affixed painfully on the glaring crystal above, mouth filled with sand. He fought off the disorientation to rise.

A boot shot for his face when he was half up, crashing into a raised arm and turning aside from Crow’s block. It threatened to topple him again, dragging a stifled grunt from his throat as he wrestled his own momentum for balance.

The boy wavered, pulling his leg back and hopping ridiculously- arms flapping like a wounded bird as he struggled to keep himself right. Crow was flat on his feet before his enemy’s struggle was over, ending it himself by swinging a punch into the mystic’s temple.

Brown eyes rolled back in his head, jaw slackening and body crumpling. Crow turned from the boy even while he fell- seeing movement further ahead.

He dove from the path of flashing magic, feeling its heat on his back as it tore past him.

Crow charged the moment he met the ground, heading straight for his attacker. He glimpsed the expanding shadow on the sand ahead of him, suspicion barely turning to realisation in time to keep him from stumbling beneath the new girl as she dropped down before him.

Sand scattered from her in waves, blonde hair spilling in the air and piercing eyes looking deep into Crow. He saw no mercy or hesitation within them.

The girl ducked down, sending him staggering back reflexively from the motion. The magic that shot over her head seared the flesh of his good arm like a hot iron, filling his eyes with tears and throat with screams.

Straightening from her duck, the girl pounced like a wolf even as his cry continued. Fists flew like sling bullets, beating Crow into a retreat and sending torturous pain lancing down his body with each guarded hit, jarring the gash on one arm or the burn on another.

He slowed his withdrawal, forcing his feet steady and meeting the barrage unmoving even as it continued to burn his limbs.

Pain, Crow. It’s only pain. That’s never been a match for you before.

Nothing had changed. Despite the urging of his muscles to give in and break down, Crow held his body still and firm. Confusion flickered in the girl’s eyes, then doubt.

He redoubled them both by bringing a fist to crunch into her ribs.

The girl folded over, but kept herself straight- impressive. She raised her arms to defend, and now it was Crow’s turn to drive his foe back with an onslaught of blows. His arms stung with each impact, fists falling upon guard like a pick against stone. The sensation brought nothing but a grin to Crow.

Hours of sparring with Galad washed over his thoughts, body falling into a haze. His senses were drowned, thoughts stilled, and the world became nigh inaudible for the deafeningly loud harmony of his flesh.

He struck without thought or error. Dropping the woman’s guard by targeting it at its weakest, then slipping by the openings he made to pummel her directly.

Their battle was music, every flash of uncertainty or hesitation its notes. And Crow’s body danced almost without his input.

It was clear he was faster than his opponent, stronger by an even greater degree, and whoever had taught the mystic girl to fight wouldn’t have held a candle to Galad. His victory grew nearer by the second. Then the girl ducked.

Crow realised what was to come in an instant, leaping in to grab the girl barely a moment after she crouched. Muscle buckled into handholds beneath his grip, and he hauled her back up with a grunt.

For the third time magic boiled air and birthed steam. Crow felt its heat even with the mystic girl blocking him from it, her body stiffening and lungs emptying in a cry to curdle blood.

He cast her aside, then broke into a sprint without missing a moment. Sand fled from his footsteps and rocked his balance, run slowed painfully by the poor terrain.

Ahead magic glowed in the remaining mystic’s hands. Brighter, hotter and more lethal by the moment.

It spurred him on, banishing weakness and strangling fear.

Quicker than Crow by a heartbeat, the girl’s power reached boiling. He dove as she loosed it, turning his shoulders into the ground and covering the last few yards by roll rather than run.

She was backing away as he rose, but a glance made it clear just how little potency she’d had to spare for her physicality.

With barely enough time for the widening of eyes, Crow was upon her. He brought a hand around to crack against her head; open palmed so as not to split her skull against hard knuckles, strength halved to avoid her neck snapping. She dropped instantly, and he spun to the shuffling of displaced sand at his back.

In only moments, the first mystic reached him once more. Her attack was as wild as it was fast, taking all the impossible speed granted to her by magic and hurling it at him like a set of knives.

Haste did nothing to make them less predictable. Each one was no less amateurish, wasteful and telegraphed enough that Crow predicted them as if with his Glimpses.

He parried, ducked. Beat a retreat for two heartbeats to draw the girl in and letting the glimpse of victory make her eager.

Then he struck at her throat, closed fist meeting cartilage and bringing her down spluttering and gasping.

Pain exploded across his back, swelling lungs as they spasmodically dragged in air and leaving the world to darken around its corners through Crow’s widening eyes. The scent of cooking flesh was sickly in his nose.

He whirled, ignoring the tides of agony it brought across his torso and staring down at the kneeling mystic- hand just growing dun from released magic, eyes hazy and unfocused from the blow to her head.

Crow snapped a kick off, thinking to restrain it only an instant before it flattened her against the sand. He left his gaze on the girl, saw her writhe and grunt as she tried to stand. More sound yet behind him drew his focus from finishing her.

Turning into a fist, he staggered away with blurred vision and ringing ears.

More blows racked his body; agitating the wounds about his arms and back, leaving a streak of fire running along the gash in his shoulder. Spilling pools of pain across the burns.

It held him. Seized his arms, seeping deep into the muscle and stiffening them with immobilising convulsions. Crow felt the familiar desperation rise within, knew he’d turned to the long-range mystic too quickly.

Knew by the exertive breaths still at his back that he’d turned from her more disastrously still.

His heart raced, and he nearly cried out in relief as his tortured limbs were finally drawn from their stupor. Crow lashed out with a strike no less clumsy or frantic than any of his enemy’s, connecting through luck and sending her stumbling with strength alone.

She staggered, and he twisted sharply to face the other. Razors of pain flayed at his back, jarred burn halting his motion and paralysing all but his screaming lungs midway.

Crow saw a hand raising, magic flooding into it as the mystic glared fear and aimless hate at him.

Three yards separated them; a short enough distance that Crow could feel the heat glowing from her coiling magic, yet too far for him to lunge. He urged himself to try, sent silent commands to his body through the fog of pain that seized it.

Beginning with a twitch and ending with a barely directional jerk, he took a step towards her. It was a fight to remain upright, a struggle to keep his legs from giving way under the screaming burn atop his flesh.

A terror to see how swiftly the power at his enemy’s fingers grew compared to the decline of his own.

I’ve failed. He realised, staring at the swelling light as his body relaxed its struggle against him. Just in time for Crow to move half a step. Too little distance for anyone to miss from.

The air flashed beside the girl, then turned red and wet. Crow stared agape at the haft suddenly protruding from her neck; two paces of wood, two hands of leafed steel. A crimson river ran down her shoulder where the spearhead had bitten, and her eyes were wide with shock.

None of the fury remained within them. Only disbelief, fear and pain.

A single gasp escaped her, bloody foam bubbling and bursting from her lips, before the spear was ripped free. Blood joined the hissing edge in a spray, raining down as the weapon fell back into steady hands.

He barely noticed. Eyes affixed on Ethi, head swimming from pain, exhaustion and bafflement at the girl’s presence.

“What?”