The friend I’d once watched struggle to walk, flew.

His feet barely touched the ground as he closed the gap to Gawain. At the last second, he flicked his shield arm out, loosened straps sliding easily from his arm as the shield skidded off to the side. He gripped the sword with both hands, swinging it more like a baseball bat than any martial weapon. Metal clashed with metal, resonating a deep hum as Gawain recoiled, shield going wide, leaving him open.

Nick spun around, his once-clumsy movements fluid and graceful as he guided the blisteringly fast follow-up strike into the gap at Gawain’s thigh.

“Mmf.”

Gawain staggered back, off-balance for less than a second before he corrected his form. Shadow hissed freely from the fractured metal armor in a steady stream that formed small clouds, advected by the swirling gale of air between the two combatants. Tendrils of smoke from the swirling shadows that surrounded us snaked toward the clouds formed by Gawain’s wound, absorbing them quickly.

The exchange grew fierce, as Gawain tried to meet Nick’s sudden flurry of aggression in kind, but Nick didn’t give him an opening, every brutal two-handed strike flowing smoothly into the next.

It felt like I was witnessing the birth of something monumental. Something that only happened once in a lifetime.

Which made it all the harder to stop watching.

Because while Gawain himself seemed honorable enough, given his refusal of Sir Kay’s proclivities, one of his Knights had attempted to sandbag Nick while he was losing. It stood to reason now that he was turning the tide, things were going to escalate.

Most of the Knights were still viewing the bout impassively. There were plenty of clenched fists, and angry mutterings, but no sudden movements or hands reaching for swords. But Kettle—the Knight who had tried to sabotage Nick—was nowhere to be seen.

I looked around in a panic and realized Pot was also gone moments before a sharp point pressed into my back and an armored forearm looped around my throat.

“Don’t,” Pot whispered.

Talia growled and bent low, ready to pounce.

Why—shit. The contract hasn’t been activated because he hasn’t hurt me yet. Same with Kettle.

I held out a hand to still her.

Not yet. Need to time this right.

“Wow,” I carefully turned my head, ensuring he could hear me while still monitoring the duel. “You guys really are the defects.”

“Keep your voice low,” Pot growled, and the point pressed harder into my side.

“Have you ever not been a follower, Pot? Don’t answer that. It’s rhetorical.” I ran my mouth, still buying time. “Not to mention obvious. That’s all you are. Worse, you’re not even a good follower. A dressed-up, trumped-up sycophant who will do anything for the person they follow, even if doing so directly conflicts with their wishes. Because, apparently, a stupid motherfucker like you knows what’s best for them.”

“On second thought. Shut. Up.”

“Must be a real burden to Sir Gawain, with a snake like you coiled in his satchel.”

“Saxon filth—”

Nick’s battle cry cut him off. Gawain was half-stooped over. My friend bellowed at the top of his lungs, bringing the blade down directly on Gawain’s head. His helmet split open and shadow spilled from the wound, spreading out, becoming fog. The last of the retaliatory power faded, and Nick took a half-step backward. He was drenched in sweat, heaving.

Kettle reappeared from the crowd and raced into the circle, approaching Nick from behind, brandishing a nasty-looking war hammer in both hands.

Now.

I sucked in a breath and shouted, “Nick! Behind!”

Everything happened at once.

Nick whirled, exhaustion forgotten, then watched dumbfounded as the previously villainous Sir Kay leapt forward to defend him.

Pain enveloped me as the blade at my back dug in a quarter inch—then disappeared. The arm around my neck loosened as the armor itself disappeared.

Credit to Kinsley. The contract paper worked.

Subconsciously using <Page’s Quickdraw>, I pulled my hand crossbow and aimed it backward, over my shoulder. The shadow that was once housed in a suit of armor reeled backward, bolt stuck where its face should be, struggling to maintain its form. I lashed out with my heel. The strike landed at chest level and the shadow stumbled backward.

Tendrils, thick and hungry, extended out from the swirling circle, dragging Pot into it even as he screamed and struggled to escape.

<Awareness> warned me just in time, and I ducked beneath the long horizontal sweep of a longsword. The Knight who attacked me was advancing, one of several. They’d witnessed the end of what just happened, but not necessarily the why.

“Traitors!” Sir Kay bellowed, suddenly heroic and completely out of character, delivering the lines I’d fed him. He fought side by side with Nick as they both worked together to push back Kettle, Sir Gawain motionless behind them. “Traitors to the Round!”

Some Knights turned, but it was deafeningly loud, and several appeared to not notice.

Not enough. Need to stall until they get a read on the situation. If they attack me under the impression they’re defending themselves, the contract may not trigger. Me on flat terrain against multiple guys in heavy armor would not go well.

I sent Talia an image and a question.

After responding with an affirmative, she raced away from the dueling square toward the swirling shadow perimeter, returning to her wolf form, white fur overtaking brown and black as her muzzle extended. She opened her mouth and howled, purification magic extending out in a small crystalline radius that covered both of us. The shadows shrieked as twisted, barely perceptible forms frantically crawled over each other, trying desperately to get away. They didn’t seem capable of complex thought and were torn between maintaining the barrier and staying the hell away from Talia’s purification magic, forming a gap large enough for both of us to escape into.

As we advanced, the shadows slid back into place, muffling the sound of the melee. All light faded, and fear turned to rage and hunger as tendrils sparked, recoiling as they clashed with Talia’s magic.

“How long can you hold it?” I asked her.

My summon’s expression was hard to read at the best of times, harder now that I had to pick it out between flashes of repelled tendrils. If I had to guess, she looked strained.

“Not... long. Will need to recover after a minute,” Talia growled. A feathery knife of darkness flashed, bouncing away from my neck. “Did you have this planned the entire time and not tell me?”

I shook my head. Then realized that she probably couldn’t see it. “Kind of making it up as I go.”

Nick was a bad influence.

“So… what… now?” Talia grunted.

“Now?” I looked around. Despite the hostility of the environment, I felt oddly comfortable. The unformed shadows posed as much of a threat to the Knights as they did to me. So long as I had Sir Kay defending Nick and could buy Talia enough time to recover, it provided the perfect environment for me to do what I did best.

Hit and run.

I grabbed <Blade of Woe’s> hilt and couldn’t help but chuckle low in my throat as dozens of splashes of yellow and red appeared beyond the barrier of the dark. “Now, we hunt.”