The riders lined up neatly on the crest of the hill. Thomas had trouble counting them – he kept losing track – but it was somewhere around twenty. Thomas hadn't changed sizes yet – he was waiting until they got close enough to be surprised before he sprang that – but he had moved to the front of their group, between the riders and the others.

Arias flanked him on the left, and Anne on the right. Their line was staggered past that, his gaze swinging back and forth; Evan formed the front of another triangle, to his right, with Carson and a hazy nothing that must be Allison. To his left, Faith fronted a triangle with Norris and John. Madelaine formed a triangle of her own, behind him, with Nathan and Amanda shepherding the children. Thomas breathed out, looked to Anne, then to the riders on the hill.

“Who are they?” Carson, uncertain.

“Gray Guard.” Anne's tones were tight, angry. Thomas looked at her, then at the riders.

“Anne? What's going on?” He remembered a crossbow bolt, and fingered his side.

“I wondered why nobody else showed up. I thought maybe it was the roc.” A snap, like a heavy branch breaking; a rider fell from his saddle, and the shadows suddenly darted forth, a rumbling roar as more than a dozen horses erupted into a gallop. Thomas' jaw dropped. She'd … she'd just killed someone? A human being, she'd killed a human being? What did she mean?

More arrows flew. Somebody cried out; Thomas glanced over, and Faith had fallen to a knee, blood spurting from her stomach, while John tended her. Crossbow. His attention moved back to the riders, who had reached the bottom of their hill, and were now ascending the hill towards his group.

Pain; he glanced down at the crossbow bolt protruding from his thigh, and back up towards the riders. They had one shot each, and their aim was shit. A little closer, and – he grew, even as he reached out with a backhanded slap that couldn't possibly hit, except once he was larger, it did. The blow against the armored figure sent pain lancing across his knuckles, but the rider was dismounted; horses reared up short at his sudden growth with noises that sounded like screams in his ears, riders struggling to remain seated. Arrows darted out. Pain, across his arm; a sword. This was insane, these were people, why had Anne just shot one of them?

Thomas used his reach to advantage, focusing on knocking the soldiers back, as Anne continued systematically shooting them. A glance left showed Arias guarding Faith against three more riders, and then Thomas' attention was drawn back to the now dismounted fighters moving towards him when a mace slashed through his oversized forearm, splattering the grass with his own blood. Thomas grabbed that man, and threw him at one of the riders plaguing Arias. The horse's leg snapped, and it screamed, even as the three tumbled to the ground. He found himself staring in shock and horror, but another blow pulled his attention back to the fight.

The rider Anne had shot first had re-mounted and joined the fight, a wooden lance shattering against Thomas' ribs; the horse flashed by, and was gone again before Thomas could properly respond to the assault. It hurt, but like a punch to his chest, rather than the deadly weapon it should have been; his damage reduction. The crossbow bolt that caught his thigh next, however, punched right through, and caused him to stagger. He didn't see where it came from; Thomas kept his attention on keeping the area in front of him clear.

One of the armored figured strode forward with an absurdly oversized sword; he swung at Thomas. The blade cut, but it certainly didn't cut as much as it should; Thomas responded by grabbing the man and throwing him at another figure. He didn't want to kill anyone if he could help it, but he was starting to bleed freely, and he wasn't pulling his punches; every blow against the armored figures hurt, but he felt, and heard, metal crunch under his next wild swing.

Thomas was being forced back, however; a skeleton moved next to him, but shattered under a mace blow that had been aimed at him. Another step back, and he saw the other skeleton's remains; Madelaine was at his side, then. She was shouting something, as she stabbed at the armored figure standing over the remains of the skeleton; Thomas blinked, when the rapier slipped between the eyeslit of the helmet, and the figure collapsed limply. Shit. Had she just … she'd just killed that person.

The riders were moving back, he realized, retreating in surprisingly good order, to collect once more across from them, on the side of the hill. Thomas doubted an entire minute had even passed, but looking around, he was shocked at the bloody ground where the battle had been fought; John was bandaging Faith, Arias' chest crimson from a slash across her collarbone. An armored figure lay motionless in front of them; two horses, one of which was still twitching erratically. His horrified gaze swept right.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Evan was laying on the ground; he was in a larger form, if not as large as Thomas'. One arm was clearly broken, the angle horribly skewed, and his face was an ugly purple, with blood pouring from a gash across his temple. Carson was awkwardly tending him. There was one of the guards, and one horse. Norris was – Thomas blinked, looking down. Norris was kneeling over a motionless – Anne? Thomas turned, blinking.

A crossbow bolt protruded from her left eye. Thomas stared at it, then looked back at the figures collecting themselves across from him. His gaze returned to Anne, then to the figures. She was … she'd be okay. She'd be fine. A chill rushed through him, a cold emptiness; Thomas smiled. The dialogs came, almost at his will.

Battle with the Gray Guards complete. You have earned four customization points. You've reached class level 15! You've reached path level 3!

Class Distinction: Inhuman Size 3

You get 25 extra HP. Additionally, you may Enlarge at will, becoming up to Giant.

Class Path Distinction: Turbulent Strikes

Your unarmed strikes deal splash damage equal to half your damage, rounded down.

26 characterization points. One free distinction.

Distinction: Improved Weapon Expertise: Unarmed

Your base unarmed attack increases by an additional progression, and gets +1 Precision

Distinction: Greatly Improved Weapon Expertise: Unarmed

Your base unarmed attack increases by an additional progression, and is unimpaired by durability or hardness

Distinction: Legendary Weapon Expertise: Unarmed

Your base unarmed attack increases by an additional progression; Precise Hits can instantly kill targets subject to an Endurance of (Ascensions - 3)

Distinction: Improved Unarmed Combat Mastery

Your base unarmed attack increases by an additional progression, and gets +3 Accuracy

Distinction: Greatly Improved Unarmed Combat Mastery

You may increase either Accuracy or damage by one progression when attacking unarmed, and ignore up to (Strength) points of target Damage Reduction

Distinction: Legendary Unarmed Combat Mastery

When attacking unarmed, reduce Imprecision by 1; deal an additional Full Progression of damage on Precise Hits, and knock targets back 5 feet for every 10 points of damage.

Thomas nodded, looking at his health. 131. Enough. A smile; those distinctions had been tempting him for a while, but damage always seemed so unnecessary, when he could do anything else. He glanced down at Anne's unmoving form. She'd be okay. Norris had her. Back to their assailants, once more mounted and preparing for another charge. Thomas watched them; the thunder of the horses was lost in an odd ringing in his ears. That was fine. He didn't need to hear them. He felt colder, more empty still. It felt good.

They did not expect his leap, nor for his already large body to grow suddenly larger. The air itself rose around his fist, as he swung; he didn't feel either horse or rider when his fist collided, only the spray of hot blood across his face. Three riders, in one blow; Thomas didn't pause, didn't hesitate; he moved forward, hand coming down. It felt like crushing a roach; crunchy. His hand was sticky as he lifted it, looking over the row of a dozen mounted men. Several were wheeling around, trying to maneuver; a blaze of light, and then darkness, as a bolt struck his own eye. It was tiny. Like these insects. The next rider, he just grabbed and crushed, until he felt the armor give in his grip, crushing the person inside; he dropped the twitching thing, now a broken doll.

Swords struck him. Maces. He could see his health, dropping steadily. He didn't need much more of it, though; punch. Grab. Throw. Crush. The armored figures crunched in his hands; the horses just kind of burst, like slimy balloons. They weren't really horses, he realized as he picked up the top half of one in one hand, intestines trailing back, still connecting it to the back half; it was some kind of … elk, maybe? Except they didn't have antlers. And their pelt was a kind of off-white, nearly blue. No matter; he tossed the half-torso at three unmounted figures still on their feet; they scattered. Pain. He looked down at the crossbow bolt, a tiny thing, embedded in his knee.

A rider wheeled away; Thomas stumbled, as he rose once more to give pursuit, and fell to the knee; pain, as the bolt was driven against bone. Well. The rider turned, and started to charge at him; he had trouble focusing on the figure, who was getting blurry, through his one good eye. Thomas grabbed one of the still-twitched armored figures at his feet, one of those he had just crushed, and threw. It missed. Oh, his health. 3. An arrow did not; the horse fell. Good, Anne was back on her feet. 2. He made himself normal sized again. 1. Thomas wondered what happened when – darkness.