Joe ducked, holding his head in his hands. He ran over into an alley, trying to avoid detection. Strange creatures flew above him, squealing as they clashed with swordsmen shooting paper from their hands. A terrible presence still radiated from the silver-haired man, like an odor, thick and sour, but an odor that sunk into your soul. The hairs on his arms stiffened; his skin shivered. All he could think about was tens of horrid fates. Yet what bothered him most was his cowardice, hiding away like a rodent, unable to stand tall in the presence of giants.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  Quinlou stood before the Stearna, with only a few Owlmen to back him up. Yet, the odds still felt in his favour. That weakling Guard had scampered off, but no matter. Captaining Yig would be a far greater boon. Although, it was curious that Yig and Mona had not shown themselves, considering their brash personalities. It made him consider if he could have perhaps walked into a trap. In which case, even better. It’d been too long since he was able to flex his talents with a blade.

  “Well then,” Quinlou said, his twin blades drawn. “You’ve striped away my allies; flung them to who knows where. Which of you am I fighting?”

  The young man named Pervoick drew his blade. The weaker Sterna were occupied with the Owlmen, but the stronger ones, Host and Syle, remained in prepared postures. It would seem they planned to tackle him as a trio.

  Pervoick leaped forward, swinging his blade upward. Quinlou took a step back, narrowly avoiding the strike, then released a pulse of dread in the Sterna’s direction, momentarily unnerving him. A split second of hesitation was all Quinlou needed. He kicked Pervoick away, his foot enhanced by a thick, dark aura.

  The broader one, Syle, leaped up with a storm of little rocks behind him. The Stearna threw them down in what could have been a harsh barrage of attacks. Quinlou lifted his two blades, hilt to hilt, the speed of their spin enough to grind through the rocks, knocking them away until the entire cluster had been dispersed. It was easy to slash the man out of the air from there, slashing twice across his chest.

  The tall one, Host, took a swing, her knuckles grazing his Quinlou’s nose. He swung back, but blade met flesh like iron to rock. He took a step back, dodging a second and third time. Those arms of her’s were coated in a thick layer of mana. So, he coated his blades, but in a layer of his dread.

  The next clash was far rougher, the power flowing from each of them meeting like two colliding waves. He didnt cut deep into her arms, but he did pierce the skin, just enough to force his dread upon her. It took effect quickly. He saw her eyes shrink with fear, it was the perfect time to strike.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Pervoick slashed at Quinlou from the side. He narrowly blocked it, but still got knocked back. Quinlou rolled into a stance, then met Pervoick’s follow up strike. A flurry of rapid blows followed, sword knocking against sword. But Quinlou’s dread coating proved enough to force his foe to stubs back, sliding until next to his other two Stearna allies.

  Alone, these three were no challenge. But together, they were proving to be quite an excitement.

  “Haha,” Quinlou laughed. “Don’t stop yet. I’m enjoying myself.”

  Pervoick lifted up his blade, and his friends each took a stance next to him.

  “We still have a few more tricks.” Pervoick smirked.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  The giant stained with green caused a small quake as he landed, rocking the road under Oy’s feet. The clay wall, used by him, Blū and Sil to divide the enemies, shattered next to him, it’s purpose fulfilled.

  Oy clutched himself, holding his bandaged wound. It was healing, faster than the average man, but still too slow. He wanted to dedicate more mana to it, but feared putting himself at a disadvantage in his current fight.

  His opponent staggered upright, clutching a gaping wound. Blood gushed freely from the open gash. He wailed in a deep, echoing voice, smearing a hand across his chest—trying to block the flow of blood with… moss?

  “It hurts!” the large man cried, stomping his feet as the moss began sealing the wound. “Ouch… ouch… ouch!”

  Some of Oy’s worry faded at the sight of a fellow giant throwing a tantrum. No matter how much pain he was in, at least Oy didn’t complain like his opponent. Maybe he had a chance after all.

  “You’re a mean bunch!” the giant yelled.

  Oy brushed his long black hair out of his eyes and threw off his coat, bare skin braced against the chill of night air. “You think so, big guy?”

  “Yes!” the giant bellowed. “Very, very mean!!!”

  With the full weight of his bulky arms, the moss-stained giant slammed the road beneath him, hands interlocked. Oy leapt back as the street cracked and trembled, dust and shrapnel raining down like he’d been standing next to a collapsing building.

  It didn’t seem like a particularly strategic move—more like an outburst of frustration. And that was, in its own way, scarier than facing a hulking warrior with a plan. Fighting a giant toddler felt like something out of a fever dream.

  The man roared again, green moss spreading across his body. Oy rushed forward, hoping to strike while the brute wailed—then slipped. His knees slammed into the ground with a soggy squelch. As he moved, realization hit: the road was covered in moss, slick and treacherous. He couldn’t get solid footing.

  The green-stained man raised his hand, focusing an alarming amount of mana into his palm. It could mean anything—a deadly blast or another messy spray of moss. Desperate, Oy reached across the road, scrambling and sliding as he grasped at a chunk of debris from the broken clay wall. One finger… two… got it.

  He hurled it through the air and struck the giant square between the eyes. The brute screeched, rubbing his face with a whine. Then, looking around in irritation, he seemed to like Oy’s idea—he grabbed a broken slab of road for himself.

  Oy tried to scramble to his feet… and slipped again, cracking his face on the stone.

  It didn’t truly hit him until that moment. Not only could he not walk or run—he couldn’t even stand. Which made lying on the ground a very serious problem.