Author’s Note:

Hey guys,

This chapter took a little longer, sorry about that, but I had to finish a short story first :D

I think it turned out pretty well, if you want to check it out, you can read it here

Well, hope you enjoy this chapter. If you find mistakes or have suggestions, questions or ideas, please post them or send me a pm.

Also in case you have forgotten the effect of some of the skills, I posted them here. They aren’t all up to date, but you’ll know what they do. As always I’ll post their progress in an overview every few chapters (last one at the end of chapter 29 )

Special thanks goes to Requizition (Author of Prism here on RRL) for proofreading. Check out his fic guys, he’s been gone for a bit, but he’s back to writing ;)

I wish you all happy holidays and a happy new year, relax a few days and eat some good food :grin:

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Chapter 31 - Kindly Bent to Free Us

They had left Jorn’s store and the narrow side streets behind. Their breath formed clouds and most of the men shivered, some affected by the cold, others agitated by the prospect of battle.

“Gather at the pyre up ahead.” Kron waved his spear toward a pile of burning wood. Someone had built dozens of pyres, each a few dozen feet away from the next one, to illuminate the wider streets.

A gust of wind fueled the flames and countless shadows of lingering men danced on the walls of the surrounding buildings.

“Alright, listen,” Korn said. Jorn had given the tall man command over the unit, but Hall still doubted his ability. “Down that road,” he pointed toward the row of pyres that lead down the street, “we’ll find the enemy. Hold nothing back. “

More people had joined them, among those many players. Several groups huddled around the fires and rubbed their hands together to keep their fingers warm. After all, a chill debuff could decrease their damage in battle and only a few had bothered to buy winter clothes.

Orders echoed through the night and almost a hundred people began to move. They drew their bows and swords, readied their staffs and prepared their spells. Some showed wide grins, faces glowing in a frenzy while others seemed concerned, but determined.

Small groups of players laughed and incited each other, along with those around them. A few men stayed a handful of steps behind the larger group and took out flutes, drums and lutes.

Their first attempt at a coherent melody failed, but soon they found their rhythm and a wave of excitement ran through the men and women gathered. The bard class could raise their allies’ strength, improve their defense and even heal them, similarly to Lily’s songs.

The road ahead was blocked. As their march slowly came to a standstill, more than two dozen soldiers in heavy armor rammed their large shields into the ground. Wet snow splashed against their metal boots and the flames’ flickering light bathed them in shades of red and black.

“Don’t falter!” A man close to Hall yelled and raised his blade. He charged forward and with him, twenty more. A lute’s melody, accompanied by a shaky voice, began its tune and more musicians followed its lead.

A handful of fireballs and lightning bolts flew past the charging men and clashed against the shield wall. But the soldiers withstood the magic as well as the first volley of arrows that rained from above.

Hall watched them carefully. He wasn’t eager to be in the first wave attack wave, unlike Kron and many of their initial group. They rushed in and slammed their weapons against the soldiers. Screams emerged from the enemy. Swords cut into their armor and skill shots bashed into their formations, but the enemy held their ground.

Behind the line of shields, a blue flag rose and one of the soldiers yelled. “Archers.”

Almost inaudible, scratching noises came from the roofs around them and several figures appeared on top of the buildings. A hail of arrows, many imbued with magic, shot toward them and struck the first wave of attackers.

“Healers!” Somebody to Hall’s left cried and two people started to chant. A yellow glow surrounded the robed men, but before they could finish, arrows buried themselves in their chest and neck. “Damn, protect the casters!” Uncoordinated yells emerged from the men as they tried to establish order.

Lily hovered beside Hall and watched the events unfold. “Doesn’t look too good.”

He shook his head, but raised an eyebrow. Kron and four of his men hadn’t clashed with the soldiers and seemed to defend their position at the front. “What are they up to?”

Kron gave his men a signal. They surrounded him and raised their shields. An orange glow gushed from his spear and the weapon grew in size. Arrows and magic clashed against the shields, but the men around him clenched their fists, knuckles turning white, and endured the attacks.

“Get ready,” Kron pressed through his teeth and, from behind, Hall heard the drums increase their speed. Three men lifted staffs they had hidden and smashed their crystal tips together. A flaming ball formed around the crystals and continued to grow as they chanted their spells.

“Oh, looks like that rebel merchant hid a few unexpected surprises among his men,” Moira said.

Kron attracted most of the archer’s attention, so the casters in the background remained undetected. He rammed his spear between two of the enemy’s shields and, with a scream, shoved it deeper into the wall of steel.

He jumped back as the spear tip exploded. A wave of fire and shrapnel ripped the shield wall apart, throwing the soldiers into disarray.

“Fire!”

The fireball conjured by the mages, now a meter in diameter, shot toward the gap Kron had created. The king’s soldiers desperately ran and shoved others in an attempt to avoid the magic projectile. But it exploded in their midst and obliterated a handful of men on impact. The flames engulfed over two dozen more and left them in dire state.

“Now, charge!” Kron and his men were the first to rush in, merciless in their assault as they killed the wounded. The rebels around Hall swarmed over their enemy like locusts. Both sides exchanged arrows and magic. Agile fighters flashed past heavily armored foes and stabbed at weak points while healers drained their mana reserves in a futile attempt to keep their companions alive.

The snow soaked up the unending streams of blood and turned the street into a crimson lake. More and more fell to blades and spells and the initial charge slowed down. Until shouts resounded from the end of the road.

Kron and his companions panted heavily and their gazes wandered to the commotion. They cursed and fell back. “Retreat.”

Wounds covered most enemies. Their mages and archers were riddled with arrows or killed by magic. Few still stood. But the rebels fared little better. Kron and his troops had prevented their destruction, but only twenty men were left under his command.

“You.” Kron pointed at Hall and threw one of his men over his bleeding shoulder. Despite his scrawny figure, his strength and fighting prowess couldn’t be underestimated. “Time to show why you’re here. Buy us two minutes, that’s all I ask.”

“Guess he’s more than just a thug,” Lily said. “At least he cares for his men.”

Hall nodded. So far he had only observed. Not because he didn’t want to fight, but because he didn’t know the situation. And rushing blindly into battle never turned out well. Now though, it was time for him to take action.

“Alright,” Hall turned to the few people still standing by his side—mostly range supporters—and gestured toward the wounded. “Pick up whoever you can carry and fall back.”

“So, how do you plan to face them?” Moira asked.

Hall let the chains from his wrists drop to the ground. “I’ll improvise.”

His mind raced. He couldn’t take on more than a handful of the soldiers at the same time.

“Well, I only need to buy a couple of minutes. Should be manageable.”

Kron and his men dragged the wounded past him as the enemy reinforcements arrived.

“Chase! Crush them!” a man on horseback yelled. He wore a red velvet cape and no blood or mud stained his shiny armor.

Hall stepped forward and, standing in the middle of the street, glanced over the approaching troops. The enemy drew their wounded back, but he still faced about thirty men. They hesitated. Hall’s glowing eyes beneath the shadows of his hood drilled into the soldiers’ minds.

“From what I’ve seen, they aren’t too strong.” Despite Moira’s condescending voice, she sounded worried. “Your scythe won’t do you much good. Those guys aren’t too evil. Bad enough though.”

“Lily, let’s show them a little fear.” Hall grabbed his chains and the soft sound of distant bells sounded through the street. They accompanied Lily’s voice as she sang of judgement and fear. Of death and despair. And of a sole reaper, coming for their lives.

The soldiers took a step back. They looked at each other, searching of confidence or words of comfort. Hall slowly closed in on them. He showed neither hurry nor any trace of doubt that he could take them on by himself. He simply sought to buy time. For them, however, their actions in these seconds would decide over life and death.

It didn’t matter if they could overwhelm him with numbers; the feeling of certain death weakened their resolve. Their legs trembled and their grips softened.

“What are you doing? It’s just one man. Follow your commander’s order!” The man on the horse drew his sword and rammed his boots into the animal’s flanks. But the horse shied away from the approaching Hall. Its rider pulled the reins, but it only struggled fiercer. He slammed the flat side of his sword against the animal’s rear and finally regained control over it. But by then, it was too late.

Hall swung his chain, wrapped it around the man’s neck and yanked him from his horse. His body slammed to the ground and silent dread spread among the soldiers.

The man whimpered and, through his daze, clawed at the chain around his throat. His legs flailed around as he desperately gasped for air. But Hall slowly pulled him in, like a fisherman reeling in his catch. The man’s armor scratched against the soiled cobblestone. He let go of his sword and his bloodshot eyes looked toward the soldiers, pleading them to act. But not one did. They only turned their heads, avoiding his gaze.

“Nobody will help you,” Hall said, his voice raspy. Almost leisurely he grabbed the dagger from his belt and got on one knee. He leaned in and rammed the dagger into the man’s back. The chain’s grip around the young commander’s neck loosened and a bloodcurdling scream left his throat. A scream that turned into a miserable gurgling as Hall slit his throat.

Two critical hits, that’s all it took to get his first kill this night.

He lifted the corpses’ cape and wiped his blade on a crest stitched onto the velvet. Not a single soldier had moved and only the far-away sounds of battle disturbed the oppressive silence.

Hall chuckled, but the street’s echo had turned it into malicious laughter. He turned around and strolled away, exposing his unprotected back to the enemy. No one tried to stop him. Neither arrow, nor spell chased after him as he disappeared into the night.

“Impressive,” Moira said. Lily nodded in approval.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“It’s just that I expected you to...” Moira searched for words.

“Be flashier?” Lily suggested.

“Exactly,” Moira agreed.

“I guess I could have jumped them all, flung my chains around and used my skills.” He shrugged. “But I got the same effect with less effort. Also I’d probably look like those guys in front of us if I had made it out.”

They had caught up with the remnants of their troops and Kron ordered his men to barricade the narrow side street behind them. They had prepared their retreat beforehand and pulled a construction made of wood and metal from a nearby warehouse to block the road.

“You useless bastard.” Kron ran toward Hall, his face twisted and his fists clenched. “You just watched us getting slaughtered. Weren’t you supposed to be some great hero of the rebels?” He spit on the ground. “What good are you?”

Hall raised an eyebrow. “You fought on your own territory, but you rushed straight into a defensive formation without securing the area. I’ll fight to free this city, but I won’t follow you into death.”

Kron grit his teeth and gestured toward his men. Only three of their original troops sat on the ground, leaning against an old house. Twelve more from other groups tended to their own wounds or just stared into the night sky. “If one more of my men dies while you just sit around, “he grabbed Hall’s coat, “I’ll swear I’ll gut you myself and sent your corpse to the king.”

Quest: Warm Thoughts of WarfareKron and his men have suffered great losses in their initial assault. Only three of his companions survived and he blames you. Prove your worth and support their advance while not a single of his men dies until you arrive at the market place.

Difficulty: D+

Quest requirements:

The first attack in the battle for Roselake gets repelled and most of Kron’s men fall

Rewards: Unknown

Failure:

Kron or one of his three remaining men dies

Fail to conquer your assigned areas

Hall shoved Kron’s hand away. “If we don’t charge in blindly, I’m in.”

“Fine.” Kron glared at him a moment longer and turned toward the rest. “You guys are now all under my command. Rest up; treat your injuries. We’ll meet up with another group and try again.”

A few men complained, but they had made their choices. The city gates were closed and the sides picked. If they didn’t want to hide, they had to fight.

The remaining mage distributed health or mana potions, but his limited supply only sufficed to heal those close to death. That meant their regeneration was severely slowed and they had to rely on external means to get back into fighting shape. Most bandaged their wounds or ate dried rations to restore their health. Because they remained in the war zone, their combat status never disappeared. At least not until they reached a safe zone.

“Let’s hope we’ll find a healer among the other groups,” Kron grumbled.

Hall glanced toward him. “And this time, we’ll keep them alive.”

Most of the town’s healers—priests, clerics and paladins—relied on light magic and belonged to one of the churches. They had declared themselves neutral and would treat everyone. But a few exceptions—mostly players—as well as the town’s alchemists, apothecaries and those with more uncommon classes that happened to possess healing abilities, chose sides and became key resources in the war. Resources Kron had squandered in his first attack and the dark expression on his face revealed that he knew it.

Hall walked toward an abandoned horse wagon and brushed the snow off the wooden driver seat. He felt the cold despite his armor and a numbing chill crawled into his feet. His boots were soaked and their leather heavy. “Should have bought winter boots, damn it.”

He observed the remaining men. Like beaten dogs they huddled around a small fire and licked their wounds. “We won’t win like this. I’ve been too passive so far.”

“Well, we have a king to kill,” Moira said. “You can’t fall until then… and if possible, not afterwards either.”

Lily soared from the ground and sat down next to him. Her white hair seemed to reflect what little moonlight reached them. Even in this darkness, she seemed to carry a light. And though he sat so close to her, not one ray reached him.

“She’s right.” Lily grabbed the corner of his sleeve. “You have to be more careful. You should fight like today, smarter. Not like down in the labyrinth.” Her small hand trembled. “You’re always fighting against so many. And all alone. Let others do the fighting for a change,” she looked up to him, “please.”

But he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. “Sorry. You’ve seen what happened before. This quest is difficult for a reason and we haven’t even fought any strong enemies yet.”

She turned away again and looked down toward her shoeless feet that still left no trace in the snow. “But we will. We always do.”

“Yeah, we always do.” Hall stared into the darkness and listened to the distant cries of dying men.

-----------------------------------

“Bale,” Ryan yelled. He and his twin brother approached the steel clad warrior in the backlines of the clash between their men and the rebels.

“So, how is the situation?” Bale never looked away from the battle. It gave him no pleasure to watch the men die, but neither did it bother him. He observed with a blank face, his eyes cold, calculating.

“As expected.” Ryan said. The twins had gathered the reports from the group leaders and gave orders where Bale wasn’t present. “The fights are brutal. Four out of five fighters are warrior classes. Very few mages, more archers, barely any support. No surprises.”

Bale nodded. They knew the troops’ numbers, as well as their composition—on both sides. The king of Bredon had driven the mage guild out of his capital and few mages had stayed behind. Even fewer taught apprentices or players. Range combat classes or their instructors had found places outside of the city—to hunt or study nature—or belonged to the army itself. A good number of people picked up the corresponding classes, but city streets and alleys made an awful battleground for archers.

“Good,” Bale said. “But there will always be surprises. No way do we know every class out there.” He finally turned away from the slaughter in front of them and walked closer to a fire pit in the backyard of a small bakery. The wind didn’t reach them in the walled area where cooks prepared meals for the fighters and the wounded waited for treatment. They had prepared places like these beforehand. Places where now the scent of blood mixed with that of grilled meat, and the wails of dying men accompanied the last meals of those about to fight.

Bale checked on the men and gave one of them orders to retrieve another crate of healing potions. “A battle might be fought on the front, but it’s won in the background.”

“Sounds like something your father would say,” Nayr absentmindedly mumbled. He glanced back to the front of the battle and his hand tightened around the blade on his belt. Even now, green liquid dropped from the dagger and burned through the snow like molten iron.

Explosions and magical attacks reflected in his dull eyes. It seemed to stir something awake deep within them. He licked his lips and his breathing hastened.

Bale raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Instead, Ryan coughed and rammed his elbow into his brother’s side. “It seems they split into smaller troops, each of them attacking through different streets.”

“Just as we expected. They avoid fighting in bottlenecks that way.”

Ryan nodded. “But it still forces us to split our troops thin.”

“Doesn’t matter. How are the casualties?”

Ryan scratched his chin and stared into the fire. “A lot. We’ve kept our best fighters back and roughly matched the strength of their attackers.”

“Good. A high death toll will mean anger and grief. They’ll resent their leaders for letting their friends and families die. And I’ll offer them… an alternative.”

Nayr bent his knees and picked a bloody bandage from the ground. He kept it a moment—a moment too long—and threw it into the fire. “It’s like a meat grinder, Bale. You should try it too.”

“When there’s time. Maybe. Go on, Ryan.”

“Salena and Belinda are holding the west part of town. Or observing the battle to be more precise. They’ll report any changes. But they seem to think if we don’t reinforce the front, the rebels will break through eventually.”

“What about Shadow Wraith?” Bale asked. They had paid a sizeable sum to the players of the chaotic guild and he intended to use them. Their conniving nature limited their usage in direct combat, but in terms of disrupting the backline and pinpoint assassinations, there was hardly any group more suited.

“There’s around eighty of them. They’re about to slip past the enemy and will wait until they can strike from behind.”

Bale nodded. He had ordered them to strike the enemy support once he gave the command.

“Sir,” a soldier ran up behind him. Blood flowed from a cut above his eye and more of it from a wound in his left shoulder. “They’ve broken through to the main street on the south and are closing in on the market place.”

“Are they progressing?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fools. Instead of waiting for the stronger east and west groups to advance, they push forward by themselves.”

“That’s faster than expected, guess they found themselves a few high level helpers.” Ryan sneered and placed a helmet on his head. Intricate metal ornaments decorated the hardened leather and formed tribal patterns that seemed to move in the flames’ flickering light.

“Get yourself patched up.” Bale dismissed the soldier and turned to Ryan. “Take Nayr with you. Push them back. Don’t overwhelm them though, can’t have their spirit broken too soon. There’s still a lot of dying to be done. On both sides.”

-------------------------

Finding another group of rebels turned out to be fairly simple. Hall, Kron and the fifteen men had followed the noise of clashing steel and raging spells and ran into an ongoing battle.

Both sides had fought to a standstill. Two dozen men and women from each side clashed in close combat while healers and ranged attackers launched their skills into the fray. Flames and ice arrows surged toward the enemy. But the archers and mages stayed out of each other’s range and while attacking, they took caution not to hit their allies.

“Nobody on the buildings this time it seems,” Lily said.

Hall shook his head. “The roofs are too steep. And with this snow, I doubt they’d get off any good shots. Hell, they’d probably only break their neck.”

They arrived in the backline and Kron approached an exhausted mage who chugged down a mana potion. “Where’s your leader?”

The man wiped his forehead and dropped the empty bottle to the ground where several more already lay in the snow. He raised his thumb and pointed a few meters to his right. There, a body lay, sprawled in the gutter, its face burnt away and its chest caved in. “He charged in first and got blown up.” The mage shrugged. “Some poor lad dragged his corpse here and got two arrows in the back as a reward. Should be lying somewhere else.”

“Alright, you’re under my command now,” Kron said. The mage only shrugged again and stretched out his arm toward the enemy. A globe of blue light formed in his palm and, after a moment of concentration, it shot forward. The glowing ball bolted away and struck one of the enemy fighters square in the chest. Like he’d been struck by a hammer, the heavy armored warrior flew backwards. His heavy body crashed on the ground, but after a few seconds, he already stood up, shook his head and looked for the mace he had dropped.

The mage clicked his tongue. “They’ll have that healed up in no time.”

“Keep firing,” Kron ordered. He turned toward a man in a white robe who sat on the side, his back leaned against a knee-high wall. “You the healer of this bunch?”

“That I am.” The man looked up and his bloodshot eyes wandered over the wounded group behind Kron. “Hope you don’t expect me to fix you lot up. I’ve been out of mana for an hour.”

“I got you some potions.”

But the man waved him off. “Already used those. Diminishing return effects make them useless. For a while at least.”

“Shouldn’t the potion work in full if the diminishing return effect isn’t triggered for five minutes?” Hall asked.

The man brushed some snow off his robe. Patches had been ripped from his chest. Signs of a rogue priest who had left the church—or was forced out. “To a certain degree, yes, but if you chug them like cheap brandy, you’ll get a debuff that negates the potion’s effect. Give me an hour. Till then I can’t heal much more than a few scratches.”

Kron looked over his men and grinded his teeth. He glared at Hall. “You’ll go to the front, relieve whoever can’t stand anymore. I don’t expect you to win the battle, but at least hold the line until this healer can get my men into shape.”

Moira hissed. “Who does this mongrel think he is? Ordering a harbinger.” Her voice grew louder in his mind. “Show him what it means to be so presumptuous.”

“Aren’t you ordering him too?” Lily cocked her head and giggled.

“That is… different,” she stuttered. “We are companions after all and I meant it for his own good.”

Hall chuckled at her struggle for words. “It’s alright. We go along with him. For now.”

He nodded to the rogue priest and approached the raging battle. At the center of the frontline, three of the king’s soldiers, equipped with heavy shields and short spears, threatened to overwhelm the rebels.

“Guess we’ll start there.” Hall needed to be careful with his chains. He had never fought alongside others, at least not in the world of Novus Vita, and he didn’t like the thought of harming them.

Two of the three men that had caught Hall’s attention shoved their shields into the rebels. The third one jumped into the small corridor the others had made, discarded his shield, grabbed the spear with both hands and stabbed at unprotected sides and backs.

The rebels stumbled backwards and enlarged the hole in their formation. A roar came from the soldiers and two more of them pushed into the collapsing line.

Hall stepped forward. Now, he only had enemies ahead. He raised both chains, swung them over his head and slammed them into the ground. The new foe caught the charging soldiers off guard. Hall’s chains fell upon the gap and crushed the helmet of the first man they met—along with his head.

The soldiers looked shocked, but their training showed its effect. The moment, Hall’s chains slammed down on them again, they raised their shields and received the attack. But they had underestimated the power behind them. Each chain struck a shield and left deep dents in the metal. The men behind them groaned in pain and fell to their knees.

Those who had charged into the gap, retreated again and allowed the rebel’s line to reform. A few of his allies nodded toward Hall, tired smiles on their faces.

His actions had slowed down the fighting even more. Many stood on weak legs, their breathing heavy and their cracked shields raised. Their weapons seemed to weigh a ton, and their sore arms struggled to keep them up.

A small group of four broke from the enemy’s backline. Three of them dashed forward and bridged the twenty meters that separated them from the front within seconds. One man strolled after them, unfazed by the battle.

They wore mismatched pieces of clothing and armor. None of them seemed to be under direct command of the army.

“Those guys look like voyagers,” Lily said.

Hall didn’t use ‘Soul Perception’ during the battles. Mana was a valuable resource and there were just too many people around. But Lily’s assumption made sense and he preferred killing players over the soldiers anyway.

The three leaped over the fighting men and women. One of them drew two short swords from sheaths on his back and swung them down evenly as he leaped toward Hall.

“Moron.” Hall shook his head. He wrapped the chains around his forearms and crossed them in front of him. The two blades struck his chains and he felt a stab of numbing pain, but ignored it. Instead, he roared and activated the skill ‘Blast Tyrant’. The man seemed dazed as if the impact had left him in worse state than Hall. His two companions landed behind him. One of them—the only woman in the group of four—drew two daggers and the other lifted a heavy mace from his back.

Before they could charge him, Hall unfolded his arms. He pushed against the two swords and his stunned enemy mustered little resistance. His stance broke and he slipped on the trampled snow. Hall grabbed the knife on his belt and before his enemy regained his step, he shoved the blade under his chin and drove it upwards.

Critical Hit!

You have dealt 715 damage

He pulled the knife from the skull and rammed it into the man’s chest. Once, twice.

Critical Hit!

You have dealt 523 damage

Critical Hit!

You have dealt 541 damage

Your target died.

The woman’s eyes widened. Only in the light of the surrounding pyres did Hall notice her pointy ears and slender figure. An elf. She had to have traveled for a while to reach Roselake. “Impossible. Tram was a level fifty warrior.”

“He was a glass cannon, not a tank.” The fourth man had finally reached them and looked at the corpse of his friend. It lay face first on the ground and dyed the snow red. “Still,” he stroked his black chin beard, “his leap initiation should have had more of an effect.” Compared to the other three, he was a little older and his equipment slightly better. Despite his heavy steel armor, he moved easily and though he showed a little concern, he made no effort to pull the large sword from his back.

“What now, coach?” the elf asked.

“Well, either you attack like we have practiced or you run. Making the decision is part of your training.”

“I’d rather die, than run. And our level is higher than Tram’s.” A dark glow spread from her daggers and tendrils of smoke rose from her arms. The other man that accompanied her nodded as white light emerged from his war hammer. He raised the weapon and smashed it into the ground before him. Snow splashed against his iron leg guards and the street trembled beneath them.

Hall raised an eyebrow. Nothing happened.

“Below you!” Moira yelled, panicked.

He instantly jumped backwards and time slowed down when the effect of ‘Watching over me’ kicked in. A spike of light broke through the ground and pierced the air where he stood a moment ago. But before he could sigh in relief, the spike detonated. The shock wave took hold of the falling Hall and flung him back even further.

Back first, he crashed onto the street. Lily gasped and rushed to his side. He rolled back, pushed himself off the ground and raised his arms, ready for the next attack. But none followed.

“Kid,” the man behind the attackers said, “you shouldn’t underestimate those two. They might be young, but I’ve personally trained them and brought them here to look for worthy opponents.”

It had been years since he had used his knife in real combat. The heavy grip in his hand, the approaching enemy. It felt so very familiar.

A grin spread on Hall’s face. “Come.”