A few moments passed as I watched the blob in the distance get closer and reveal itself to be a black van. During that time my struggle with consciousness ended and instead, I became heavily nauseous, which I dimly recalled was a possible side effect of head trauma. Jesus, I’m going to get dementia in my forties, aren’t I. Like a retired linebacker.

I rolled onto my back in an attempt to relieve the nausea, only to discover that made it worse. I struggled to my side again as my stomach heaved and just barely avoided throwing up on my own face, shooting a line of vomit not unlike a certain possession film from the 70s. You know, I can’t recall if I’ve thrown up since I got quasi-super strong. But I guess if you have super strong core muscles, you kinda make a spectacle of vomit. It shot from my mouth in a tight line for a couple of seconds before suddenly ending. I’d only had a breakfast sandwich and a couple of candy bars to eat today, so I guess that makes sense.

The part of my mind that was trying to fight through the concussion I was likely suffering from made me wrench my eyes back to the approaching van. It stopped a couple dozen feet away and six very large men came out. They each wore dark navy coveralls with no branding anywhere, each had the same, close-cropped haircut. Now that I noticed that, I also noticed that they never really strayed far from one another as they approached. One was about to split and make his way over to Tony when he seemed to think better of it and remain with the group.

Alice was between me and them. They were heading to her and I had a sharp realization that she might not be able to defend herself while she was patching up whatever that explosion had done to her.

“No,” I gasped.

I tried to summon my magic and get to my feet at the same time, only managing to get my foot under me before my equilibrium failed and I toppled to my side. My nausea roared back with the sudden movement and my stomach cramped up again, but this time instead of a line of vomit I just coughed up some burning bile.

Uncaring about my struggle, the men surrounded Alice and crouched down around her. The one by her head lifted a finger that elongated with a series of pops until it became a barbed protrusion of bone. He lowered it to her face.

In desperation, I tried to summon my tentacles, unused for a year. If I stretched them to their limit they just might be able to reach the men. Like a skill I haven’t used in a long time, or perhaps a limb freshly released from a cast, they were slow to respond. Nothing happened for a moment and I feared I would be too late, watching with growing horror as the sharpened bone descended to Alice’s eye—

Gunshots rang out.

The steady semi-automatic fire of a gun I was very familiar with.

The first shot hit bone-finger in the shoulder, the second in his hip. It was enough to make him lose his balance and fall on his side, the finger just missing Alice. The gun, somewhere behind me, kept firing, this time changing targets with each shot. The man next to bone finger took a shot in the middle of his back. The same for the one next to him. They finally started to react to the gunfire, turning to the noise.

The next man caught a bullet in the side of his neck as he turned in my direction, his face showing no reaction. Two more shots rang out, in two additional men before they stopped.

As gingerly as I could while still moving with some urgency, I did my best to look behind me. A flood of relief hit me when I saw Ida in a wobbly crouch, having apparently been tossed into a drainage ditch by the side of the road. The left shoulder of the tank top she wore had been snapped, leaving a livid bruise across her neck. Her arms, particularly her shoulders and elbows, were scraped bloody. She looked like she had had a rough landing.

Her eyes were steady, however. She calmly ejected the magazine from the 1911 I’d loaned her and reached into her pocket for a spare, slamming it home and pressing the slide lock with her thumb to load the first round, all in less time than it’d take me to describe.

Oh, right. I also have a gun.

Ida resumed her steady firing as I began to paw at my waistline. I glanced at the six men, and if they were bothered by being repeatedly shot, you couldn’t tell from their expressions. They were now moving toward Ida (and me) at a steady, slightly hurried pace. It was kind of like that jog some people do when they are crossing a stop sign intersection, they kind of half-jog, half-speed walk to cross so you don’t have to wait for them.

Despite my frantic motions, I couldn’t get my hand around the grip of the Webley through my shirt. Rolling around on the ground and being concussed had adjusted the position of the holster on my waistband and it was awkwardly placed now. I couldn’t even look at what I was doing because my neck refused to move certain ways without shooting blinding pain up and down my spine.

There was a frustrated growl from my waist and I suddenly felt the Webley press into my hand. “Thanks, bud,” I said with relief and lifted the gun in a shaking hand at the six men, who were less than ten feet away.

Trying to aim required focus I just didn’t have right now, so I settled for making sure I wouldn’t hit Alice by angling the gun up from where I was prone on the ground (and laying in my own vomit, I noticed) and squeezed the trigger. A wrist-sized beam of destruction shot between two of the men in front and hit one of the men in the back of the group right above the groin, exploding the poor dude's pelvis in a splatter of horrendous gore I’ll never be able to get out of my head. The destruction was so complete the guy fell between his legs, which toppled to the ground beside him.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Now, being shot by .45 ACP barely made these guys react. Getting shot by the Webley made them all stop, look at their newly pelvis-less associate and consider him for a heartbeat. As one, they picked up the pieces of their friend/comrade/co-puppet and sprinted with startling speed to the van.

“Ida!” I shouted over the gunfire of her third magazine. “Help me aim!”

The shooting paused and a moment later Ida was by my side. “Are you alright?”

“Concussed, I’m pretty sure,” I said with a slur. “Help me aim—don’t touch the gun. Use my wrist.”

Ida grabbed my wrist and started pointing it at the van with the five-point-seven men making their escape. “No!” I said, pulling my wrist to the side. “To the guard station. Help me hit it.”

“What? Why?” She asked, even as she crouched down beside me and aimed down my arm at the guard station.

“I’m pretty sure they shot an RPG at us,” I said. “And I think they have more. I won’t be able to stop another one.”

Ida swore in French and kept helping me aim. She made a frustrated noise after a moment and lowered herself next to me, going prone and gingerly moving my hand so she could aim down the sights of the Webley.

“There,” she said.

“Hold it steady,” I said and focused on the gun.

Without me moving my finger, the cylinder rotated in the gun and the hammer came down, but it didn’t shoot. Ida grunted as the gun and my hand became heavier. “What—“

“Keep it steady,” I said. “I have to make sure they can’t fire off another one of those.”

Again the cylinder rotated, the hammer coming down with a click. My hand wobbled and Ida adjusted her aim again. The tendons in my hand started to burn.

The van’s engine revved, the tires kicking up rocks as the van pulled a quick U-turn and headed back towards the warehouse.

“Colm,” Ida said, worry thick in her voice. “What is happening?”

“I’m kinda supercharging the gun,” I said. “This next time it will go off, so really brace. Brace as hard as you can.”

She shot me a worried look as she adjusted herself against me. It was still tough to focus, so my main effort was to tense and not fight her when she adjusted my hand.

The cylinder turned one last time, the hammer came down.

A black beam as thick as my chest, tinged with hateful red, emerged impossibly from the end of the Webley and slammed into the guard station the next instant. Again, my distance vision isn’t that great but what I could see was a vague box shape suddenly turn into a black, light-absorbing cloud.

That then exploded.

It wasn’t a huge explosion, as things go. At least, from what I can tell. But it was sufficient to destroy anything in the building, along with the motherfucker that had hurt my friends.

The recoil from the blast wrenched my hand back, and if Ida hadn’t been there to help me brace I think I would have broken it. As it was, even with my reinforced ink skin, I’d probably have a terrible bruise for the rest of the week.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll be fine, see if you can help the others.”

She nodded and got to her feet with a wince, pausing briefly to squeeze my hand.

I took the next couple of minutes to crawl away from my vomit and to rise to a sitting position. Feeling a little punch-drunk, I wet my finger with my tongue and drew the laundry spell on my soiled shirt and was ecstatic (or at least as excited as one can be after nearly dying and suffering from a concussion) when the worst of the dirt and fluids disappeared. Fucking rad.

My thoughts were interrupted by a shift in the air, followed by a low whistle.

“Whoa,” said an overly chipper voice. “What the hell did I miss?”

Ida and I turned to see five men and two women dressed… in only what I could call fantasy-SWAT gear. Like, if you squinted, you’d think they were special forces personnel. But then you’d notice that instead of Kevlar vests, they had black enamel breastplates. Each of them wore a sword. Two of the men had kite shields on their backs.

They also each carried either an assault rifle or a submachine gun. Several had obviously magical talismans and trinkets hanging from various parts of their uniform. One guy in the back, I just noticed, wore a medieval-style knight helmet and was probably a foot taller than me.

The man in front, wearing wire-frame glasses, had hair so blonde as to almost be white. It was very fine and seemed to float around him like he was underwater. He stepped over to me with his hands up. “Mr. Avery? I’m Henry Albright.”

It was only then that I noticed I was aiming the Webley at them. I sighed and lowered the gun. A moment later, Ida lowered her 1911. Jesus, I might be worse off than I thought if I failed to notice both of us drawing on the newcomers.

Albright turned to his team. “McKay, Calhoun, check on the wounded.”

“What happened?” Albright asked as a man and woman from his squad broke off.

I was wondering why he didn’t just pull the info from my head, but then I remembered I was still wearing my amulet. “Got hit by an RPG, I think,” I said slowly. “I noticed it soon enough to detonate it some yards away.”

The couple minutes of rest, followed by the conversation were doing wonders for me. The upgrades I did to my body to allow for faster healing were showing their hand—my dizziness and nausea getting less with each passing moment.

“You got any water?” I asked, conscious of how hoarse my voice sounded. “I think I had some in the car, but…” I glanced at the tipped Prius.

Albright handed me a canteen. I took a couple of small sips before resuming my story. “Then they sent some weird, hive-mindy goons after us. Ida and I scared them off and we blew up the guard station so they couldn’t hit us with another RPG.”

Albright glanced at the small building smoking in the distance. I saw him look at Ida, then at me.

“That’s an impressive handgun,” he said after a moment.

“It has its moments,” I said, before draining half of the canteen and handing it back. “Let’s go get my brother.”

I stood and started to head toward the warehouse and my friends when Albright put a hand on my chest to stop me. He was surprisingly strong, being a head shorter than me. “You’re injured; you’ll be a hindrance in your condition.”

I glanced down at his hand on my chest, then met his eyes. I don’t know what he saw, but he quickly dropped his hand. I took a deep breath.

“I’m going to check on my friends,” I said. “Once I’m sure they will be fine, I am going to go look for my brother,” I took a step closer to Albright, looming over him. “If anyone tries to stop me, I will kill them. How’s that for a hindrance?”

Without waiting for a reply, I stepped past him to check on Alice.